


For whom time has stopped

by Ajalea



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: (non major) Character Death, Flashbacks, M/M, Post-Canon, the already known deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 07:57:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10940280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ajalea/pseuds/Ajalea
Summary: Set after the Summer Palace and the short story about Charls! (you have to have read the Summer Palace, Charls's story is optional)Laurent takes Damen to the crypt where his family is buried. Damen wants to pay his respects.





	For whom time has stopped

**Author's Note:**

> I really needed to get this out of my system. I finished all three available short stories last night after rereading the books before that and all I could think was 'what if..?' so I wrote exactly that.

Laurent watched Damen’s back as he repressed a shiver. It was cold in the crypts, colder than he remembered. Then again, it had been a while since he had last been here.

Damen was kneeling – an obedient gesture – whispering something not meant for Laurent’s ears. He nearly felt like intruding on a personal conversation and wanted to look away. He didn’t, Laurent’s eyes were glued to the white fabric that covered the scarred skin of Damen’s back.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Laurent smiled. Charls was a smart man, and yet it had taken him so long for his mind to comprehend who Lamen really was. Afterwards, when all the ceremonies were over, they had invited Charls back to the palace and had a good laugh over it.

Damen had explained most of what had happened to him, and between them, enough for Charls to understand that without his help, neither of them had been alive.

Naturally, they had offered him a contract and of course Charls had accepted. At this moment, Damen was wearing one of the fabrics Charls brought with him last time he visited.

The dark curled head dipped once and Damen rose. He looked back to see Laurent watching him with curious eyes.

Damen didn’t ask and Laurent didn’t tell what he was thinking, just like Laurent didn’t ask what Damen had said to his father. Instead, he led the way to a different tomb.

Laurent looked at it with a twinge of grief. Veretian tradition called for a dead royal to be displayed in marble on top of their tomb and he had never liked looking at the serene marble face of his mother.

Again, Damen sunk to the ground, resting his weight on one knee, the bottom of his tunic almost touching the marble floor.

Again, Laurent stayed back. As much as he wanted to hear Damen’s words, they weren’t meant for his ears. Or so he thought. Damen spoke louder this time.

“I hope you can forgive me for the pain that I have caused after your death. I regret that history has taken that path, but I would not dare change it, for I could not be happier at this moment.” Damen looked over his shoulder. “I’d like to think your son is in good hands.”

Laurent smiled, unwillingly. “She would think I am.”

Damen returned his smile warmly and turned his head back. He mumbled a few more words and got up.

“Where is your brother?”

“This way.” Laurent walked in front so Damen couldn’t see the emotions in his eyes. Laurent had never been one to express emotions at a great scale, certainly not after the war, and it had been years since he last cried.

Auguste was separated from his parents by a few of his ancestors. Laurent had always thought it lonely to be alone like that.

Damen took his time gazing at Auguste’s features.

Laurent stood next to him, his fingers carefully grazing the white marble hair. “It looks like him.”

“I agree,” Damen said after a moment of silence. “He looks like you.”

Laurent looked down, at his brother’s face. He couldn’t see the resemblance between them.

“You don’t see it, do you?” Damen saw Laurent’s brow crease and de-crease.

“I don’t.”

“I’ll tell you about it later. First, give me a moment.”

Laurent nodded and stepped away a few paces. An oil lamp lit up half of his face.

No one except the royal family was allowed in the royal crypts. Lighting the lamps was one of only two reasons servants were allowed in there. The first was after the death of a royal, to prepare a niche for the tomb and the second was to light or extinguish the oil lamps when one of the royal family wanted to enter the crypts. They would light them beforehand and would only put them out after the royal family had left the crypt. On any other occasion for any other person the price for a visit would be death.

Laurent’s thoughts returned to the war as Damen stood there, next to his dead brother, all of them in silence.

Although it had been early spring, the weather was not unpleasant, even for a day like that. Auguste had been hopeful, they had a strategy they were sure would not fail them. Their father, King Aleron had trusted his oldest son to win the war for them. Laurent received one last pat on his golden hair.

Hours and hours later, the messenger arrived with word of Auguste’s death. Laurent, in a corner reading a book, never saw the man run into the tent. He looked up only when all the sound left the tent. Everyone was frozen to the ground and only his father, in his yet untainted armor, produced a sound.

His grief-stricken face was something Laurent would have nightmares about in the many weeks and months after the battle. Without anyone telling him, Laurent knew. He knew his brother had died.

King Aleron was led away by his brother, to get a hold of his emotions. Laurent never moved from his spot, not even when his uncle returned without his father. The servants and soldiers present in the tent seemed to have forgotten about young Prince Laurent, with his books and childlike interests. Most men were soldiers, not babysitters and Laurent could take care of himself at his age.

Not long after the return of his uncle, a new messenger entered the tent. He looked from the King’s brother to Laurent and decided on the latter.

Laurent noticed his approach and saw the look on his face. “No. I don’t want to hear it.” He said it with empty eyes.

The messenger nodded uncertain and turned to the other royal in the tent, who listened to his story.

A fist on the wooden table startled Laurent. He didn’t want to look up, where he was sure to see pity and grief. He had need for neither.

Soon after, the Akielon herald arrived.

“Laurent?”

Laurent’s eyes focused. Damen was studying him. “What?” He hoped Damen was unable to see the memory in his eyes.

“The Council is waiting.”

The outside world felt so far away from them. The Council, Vere, Akielos, nothing mattered.

“You need a bath first.” Laurent scrunched his nose as if he smelled something nasty.

“So do you.” Damen shot him a look. “I’ll wash you back.”

From Damen’s expression, Laurent could tell he meant more than just that. “Fine, but know that it’s your fault if the cranky old men are even crankier.”

Damen simply smiled.

That night, Laurent was resting his head on Damen’s chest. Through thin fabric Laurent felt a strong heartbeat. It was calming enough to almost send him to sleep. Damen was stroking his hair lazily.

“Tell me about her.” Damen said, not unkind.

“She was beautiful.” Laurent opened his eyes so he wouldn’t fall asleep talking. “The palace loved her, despite her foreign roots. Then she got sick. I was told it was contagious, so I wasn’t allowed to see her. Within days, she was dead and entombed.” He turned around and sky blue met dark brown. His hair was a mess. “You know what her last words to me were?”

Damen looked at him, lacking an answer.

“‘You are so unlike your brother’ she said.” Laurent’s gaze didn’t waver.

“You have the same determined look in your eyes as Auguste.” Damen explained his statement from earlier that day.

“Not in those days.”

“Not in those days.” Damen repeated.

Laurent listened to Damen’s breathing.

“I asked your brother for his blessing.”

“What did my marble brother tell you?”

“That if I hurt even one blond hair on your head, he’d kill me.”

Laurent smiled, closed his eyes. “That sounds like him.”

**Author's Note:**

> It's really damn hard to try to copy Pacat's style D: I know it's nothing like her writing, but I tried ^^' It's part my own writing style, part trying to copy Pacat's and although I'm not sure what to think of it, I also kinda like it haha
> 
> If you liked this, please consider commenting or leaving kudos :D Thank you!


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